|Apr. 16th, 2013 @ 09:01 pm A Fat, Dead Genius|
|The Saving Of Thomas Aquinas
The 13th century happened once
in Paris, when Thomas Aquinas
was sitting around.
Université de Paris was new,
with its spires and towers
and tall walls of stone.
There were old books all around.
(They're even older now.)
Tom didn't care for ascending stairs.
(He preferred the belfry of his mind.)
Thinking of him now, I think of God,
that God's a poet,
whose metaphors occur in real life.
I think of the fame of the everyday man,
because he's viewed by God.
(It's like an infinite Nielsen rating.)
I think of us creative types,
that we're all of us priests,
of some religion
(either of Jesus Christ,
or else of The Church Of Ourselves).
So there is Tom,
in the year before he died,
watching the sun come up at dawn,
through a stained-glass window.
Then something occurs
that a doctor might call a stroke.
But it's not a stroke: not that kind of stroke.
No, Thomas Aquinas saw the light;
He said, "I through with writing books."